the hounds of hell...

A Poem by anais.vionet

Summer’s almost over

Summer’s almost over - that convalescent state where successive modes of pleasure were the order of the day. Now fall commands awakening - drive simplicity away! The hounds of hell are yelping that it’s time to banish play. They cry “forget unscheduled hours that owned no share of care - the virtual halls are scheduled and we’ll soon see you there.” No apotropaic magic can delay my slated fate - to the corridors of learning I must too soon reacclimate.